


Aboard the 'Fortunata'

by hyracula



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyracula/pseuds/hyracula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 2015 Temeraire Fandom Exchange! </p><p>20. prompt 2: Laurence says yes at the end of book 6, and he and Temeraire become privateers. Describe one of their adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aboard the 'Fortunata'

**Author's Note:**

> As 90% of my knowledge of naval battles and sailing ships comes from fiction, I apologize for any inaccuracies! Nothing much else to say, except THANK YOU to the prompter for the opportunity to write this! I've wondered about what they'd get up to as privateers myself.

Laurence lowered his spyglass with an air of grim amusement. “I believe they’ve taken the bait,” he observed to Tharkay, standing beside him on the quarterdeck.

 

“And why shouldn’t they? We make such a tasty prize,” responded Tharkay in such a laconic tone that Laurence snorted with laughter. But the _Fortunata_ did appear to be a prize, indeed: a small dragon-transport, riding low in the water but with no dragons in evidence. The uncertain handling of his second lieutenant, Mr Stirling, completed the illusion of a young captain who had recently made post, bringing supplies to one of the many British outposts in the Indian Ocean. Laurence had not initially been pleased with the man’s performance, but as Tharkay pointed out, they would not be a fast ship with the best handling. Their strength lay elsewhere.

 

The _Fortunata_ was of Spanish make and smaller than any dragon-transport Laurence had seen in the Royal Navy. Tharkay had procured it, along with letters of mark for Laurence and himself, in Sri Lanka; the busy port had also yielded most of their crew. They were average seaman for the most part, although Stirling, along with Neary the boatswain, at least had been men of the Royal Navy in the past. They had come aboard as a pair, and Laurence hadn’t asked them much of their history, but he had some understanding that they had been involved in the Irish uprisings of ‘98. This may once have given him pause, but Irishmen fighting for Irish freedom seemed to Laurence now as honourable a motivation as may be found in any man.

 

Raising the spyglass once more, Laurence glanced at the other ship. “A frigate, and flying French colors to be sure. I believe we’ve whetted her chops enough. Tenzing, if you would?” As Tharkay called out “Beat to quarters!”, Laurence snapped his spyglass shut, feeling a curious lack of affect. Around him, his crew was moving to stations with a practiced air-- not as efficiently perhaps as the Royal Navy might, but then again they didn’t need to be. The enemy ship was approaching from the starboard bow, its sails rising into view above the fan of the dragondeck. At this distance the tricolor was a bright smudge against the overcast sky, and without the spyglass it could have been any flag.

 

A sudden roar from the gun deck, and Laurence smiled. The cannons had spoken too early, and the frigate was closing fast; there was only time for one more ragged round before the enemy ship drew abreast to board.

 

“‘Ware boarders!” called the lookout. Tharkay raised a pistol and said “Shall we?”

 

The French sailors had sent a large boarding party, and Laurence’s men were fighting cautiously. Laurence had gotten off a shot with each of his pistols when he marked the French captain, coming aboard with a small party of marines. He raised his whistle and let out a high blast before drawing his sword and surging forward into the fighting.

 

Slashing and sidestepping, Laurence was making his way toward the captain, when suddenly there was an ear-shaking roar. The boarding party’s alarm quickly turned to panic as Temeraire surged out of the water from behind the _Fortunata_.

 

Laurence took advantage of the distraction and pressed forward, amid panicked shouts. “Oh, I am _not_ a sea serpent!” he heard Temeraire say indignantly, as he raised his wings and pushed himself out of the water. To Laurence’s eyes the takeoff was still rather clumsy, but the resulting surge of water knocked his opponent to his knees, and Laurence struck the man on the side of the head with his pommel before stepping over him. As he did, the man lashed out wildly with his sword, plunging the tip into the Laurence’s right thigh.

 

The pain was shocking enough to cause a sharp intake of breath, but Laurence kicked the man’s sword away with his other leg. The wound was above his knee, and, while painful, did not appear to be serious. Laurence gritted his teeth and forced himself not to limp as he closed the distance with the French captain.

 

Roaring, Temeraire circled, gaining altitude; then suddenly went into a dive. Talons outstretched, he raked the rigging of the frigate before pulling up sharply and hovering in place. Laurence only had time to raise his sword in challenge before the French captain said “Je me rends.”

 

***

Laurence was ordering his third lieutenant, Mr Cole, to take the captured frigate back to Mauritius when Temeraire landed on the dragondeck. The _Fortunata_ was made for short-term rests for courier dragons, and Temeraire was obliged to coil himself tightly, his tail overhanging the deck. “Laurence! You’re hurt!” he cried, and Laurence sighed inwardly before turning around, grateful for his dark trousers.

 

“A scratch, my dear. Nothing to cause concern.” Temeraire put his head down to inspect him, and Laurence smiled as he patted the dragon’s muzzle.

 

“Well,” Temeraire said sceptically, “at least we’ve taken a lovely frigate. This was a proper French ship, was it not?” Despite himself, Laurence winced to hear Temeraire describe a privateering vessel such as the one they’d taken two weeks previous as not properly French. Laurence could only compare it to their own situation.

 

“Yes indeed. They thought they’d come upon an easy prize. A dragon transport with no dragon.” At his words, Laurence noted Temeraire fidget uneasily. He stood quietly, stroking Temeraire’s muzzle, until he spoke again.

 

“Laurence… it does not quite seem fair, to hide and ambush in such a way. I have not had a proper battle in ages.” Temeraire sounded troubled. Laurence closed his eyes. He had anticipated this.  
  


“Do you miss being shot so?” As Temeraire protested, Laurence said “My dear, we have no dragon surgeon. Simmons is a fine doctor but he knows little of dragon anatomy. We must take care not to expose you to gunfire unnecessarily.”

 

“Hmph. I’m sure I can take care not to be shot, when we are only fighting one small ship and no dragons.” Temeraire sounded so grumpy that Laurence laughed.

 

“Only if you do not present too tempting of a target.” Temeraire seemed unconvinced, and with a more serious tone Laurence continued. “Consider this, as well. One small ship, as you put it, would not willingly take on a heavyweight dragon such as yourself. A single ship in the open ocean will not attack us, and we do not have the speed to chase them down.”

 

Temeraire sighed. “I suppose you are right.” After a moment’s pause, he brightened. “Perhaps when we go to Mauritius there will be new books!”

 

“I have given Mr Cole instructions to purchase any he should find,” smiled Laurence. A sudden throb in his leg reminded him of his untended injury. “I’m going below, my dear. I’ll have the cook bring you one of the tunnys we caught this morning.”

 

“Yes indeed, Laurence! Your clothing is terribly soiled.” Temeraire sounded so severe that Laurence laughed involuntarily as he made his way belowdecks, catching Tharkay’s eye as he did.

 

***

“It’s deeper than you said,” Tharkay commented as he dabbed the wound with a wet cloth. “Are you sure you don’t want to see Simmons?”

 

“One of the men took a ball in the shoulder. Besides, your stitches are straighter than his.” Laurence winced as he leaned back in the chair. He was sitting in his shirtsleeves and smallclothes, his torn and bloodied trousers on the floor, but his cabin was stiflingly hot. Tenzing handed him the brandy bottle, but Laurence waved it away, and the other man set it on the table beside him. Closing his eyes, he spoke again, to distract himself from Tharkay’s work. “Temeraire is getting restless.”

 

“Oh?” said Tharkay mildly as he threaded the curved needle. “He’s unhappy with our prize?”

 

“Oh no, as long as Iskierka keeps writing of all the ships she and Granby have taken, I doubt he’ll ever tire of taking prizes. I believe they’re keeping a-- ah!-- a running tally.” Laurence swallowed his grunt of pain as the needle bit into his flesh. Despite the heat, he reached for the brandy bottle and took a long swig, ignoring Tharkay’s chuckle.

 

Settling back again as the brandy burned in his chest, Laurence continued. “He misses proper battles, he said. Against other dragons.”

 

“I wasn’t aware he was so mad for formation flying,” Tharkay commented.

 

“It’s the challenge he misses. And he does not enjoy this hiding and ambushing, of setting traps instead of open confrontation.” Laurence was breathing more steadily now, through the rise and fall of the pain in his leg as Tharkay’s hands worked smoothly along.

 

“Yes, I suppose I’ve never heard of an 18-tonne dragon who was particularly given over to stealth,” Tenzing said so drily that Laurence laughed.

 

“Heh. Indeed.” He was quiet for a long moment. “He was enthusiastic about the notion of privateering, but I suppose he thought we’d meet more fleets and fewer pirates and traders. I know he’s unsatisfied, but…”

 

“But?” prompted Tharkay after Laurence fell silent.

 

“Would he be more content living in exile in the Australian outback? Ranching? Whoever heard of a dragon rancher? Much less a Celestial. I have no notion of what his mother would think, whether we’d be disgracing the Imperial family. Or whether we already are.” Laurence sighed, then yelped suddenly as Tharkay broke the thread with a sharp snap.

 

“There. The man’s sword was sharp, at least, so it should close nicely. Try not to open it up, though, or you may end up on Simmons’ table after all.”

 

“Perish the thought,” Laurence muttered, and Tharkay laughed as he stood to wash his hands in the basin.

 

“Laurence,” Tharkay said, as he rinsed his hands. “If Temeraire is truly unhappy, we may find some other occupation. Something with more challenge, as you say. But I do not believe you should worry about the opinions of the Chinese court. Or anyone else, for that matter.” Tenzing smiled ironically, his characteristic smirk flickering across his face as he dried his hands and turned to face Laurence. “As long as he is happy with himself.”

 

Laurence found he had no words to that. Tharkay helped him out of the chair and into his hammock. "Thank you, Tenzing," he said quietly. Tharkay nodded, once, before stepping out of the cabin and closing the door. The heat pressed in on Laurence, and he closed his eyes to sleep.

 


End file.
